


Between the lines

by Faustitas_B



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Angst, F/M, idk man, is this angst?, it's cute tho, life story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faustitas_B/pseuds/Faustitas_B
Summary: It started out well-intentioned. Things were never meant to go this far, to drag them this far apart. How could two young lovers ever end up so bitter?





	Between the lines

**Author's Note:**

> Man I wrote this ages back but it's just been in my notes for months, so I decided there was no harm in posting it. It's a little formally written but that's just my style I guess.

“Hades!” It was hissed, and followed by short peals of laughter. The boy would have been lying if he had said it was beautiful because of how it sounded- no- it was imperfect. Not the bells of the nymphs, and not the wailing cry of the people in his home, but real, genuine and kind and filled with snorts and hiccups that interrupted loud guffaws.

“Hades, you idiot! Be quiet, my mother will hear us.” She tried to be serious, but was too busy laughing at him, trying to escape via her bedroom window, but instead stuck with one leg on either side of the frame, his foot entangled in the wild vines from various plants on either side of the outer wall.

“ 'Sephy, untangle me, please. Take pity on a young man, my love.” finally, he gave in and begged.

“Maybe.” she smiled, paused took the time for a final snort at the scene in front of her before gently guiding the vines away from his legs to free him. He fell from the second story and anticipated a painful crash and loud landing, but a soft bed of moss grew where he fell, and the girl threw herself from the bedroom window above to land beside him, unphased by the fall.

.  
.  
.

When they were still young-- before the bitterness had grown between them, cultivated over time like the plants she so loved and he so admired-- he had brought her endless gifts. The deal with her mother ensured that she stayed united with her new husband, but she couldn't return to the surface world and in the early days she was clearly homesick. So Hades had his servants gather the few bounties that still remained for her, and oftentimes brought her his own gifts. One day he brought her a beautiful caged Swallow, with a coat of lapis, crying out in soft, musical chirps. She loved that gift with all her heart. 

.  
.  
.

They lay in a field, careless and free. The sunlight was warm against her skin, and she idly fiddled with a flower in her hands as the boy dozed away beside her.

Inspiration struck between his soft snores, and she began to weave a crown for him, Forget-Me-Nots, Lilies, Magnolias-- of course this was long before they gained those names. She was the one who gave them meaning after all, and gifted them to the people as she had to her lover, but these were the first.  
She placed the crown of soft blues and whites upon his head of dark hair, and set about weaving one for herself. White Chrysanthemum first, then Lily Of The Valley with pale, bell-shaped heads, connected by Maidenhair Fern -- later named by her lover for her-- she smiled as she created her own and set it upon her crown to match his. 

But it wasn't quite right. She frowned, looking to her boy for a moment, before making her choice. She switched their crowns, then lay her head against his shoulder and slept.

.  
.  
.

The swallow was beautiful, she had loved it so, so much. And then it had come to an end, as all things do. He took it from her and freed it's soul, assuring her that it would still endure forever, just no longer at her side. 

She nodded, sniffed, wiped at her eyes and her nose for a final time and swallowed the last tears she had.   
It was time to return to the surface and face her mother, to bring spring to the people above again, and she couldn't show her pain to them.

.  
.  
.

“Are you sure, Persephone?” The boy, now nearly a man, asked.

“Absolutely.” She nodded.

She had no fear of her mother and would stand to face her as she pleased, but she knew her love would anger her. Who would be more opposed, more unsuited for each other than herself and the one who regularly ended the life she and her mother so worked to create.

She would decide her own path, and her mother could accept the future as she and only she would decide to make it.

Demeter was no wise woman, and Persephone was not destined to forever remain the innocent maiden.

.  
.  
.

The next time she came home to him, she found another swallow. In appearance, it was every bit as beautiful as the last, and she appreciated her husband's thought and care for her feelings, but she couldn't express to him why she did not find it so beautiful. 

He saw all life as of the same value, souls weighted equally against each other, an eye for an eye and a favour for a favour, each worth as much as the next. But she saw a new beast whose only purpose was to entertain her, to keep her occupied. She knew it would be ridiculous to voice her thoughts, but she wanted her old friend back, even if she could only have the empty shell that once held its soul.

.  
.  
.

She had returned with him to his home, and partaken of the other world below. Of course, she had already partaken of its spoils, namely the one whose hand guided her there, but before she had not consumed the fruit of the underworld and was not bound to the plane as the spirits he guarded were.

Now, six small seeds of a blood-red fruit bound her to the plane, and she couldn't be happier.   
Her mother was a different story.

.  
.  
.

Eventually, Persephone grew bored simply guiding the land's produce alongside her mother when she was above, so she began to play with the humans. 

First it was tentative, short words exchanged with those who cultivated her mother's spoils-- how they found the harvest, how they found the world her people had carved out for them. 

Some were angry, she had abandoned them, they said, left them to starve in the cold months, no food in their bellies and no warmth of the sun on their backs. And she felt guilty. She had chosen her own path, but doomed those who looked to her for guidance.

So she resolved to help them, even in her absence. She began to interact far more with the creations of her family-- the animals, the nymphs and spirits, the humans and the others of her family that she saw in passing.  
It was worth it.   
Generations had passed since before and the people were no longer angry with her, they found the beauty in the harsh winter, in each other and how the snow looked upon the ground and how their hunger reminded them that they were alive, not that they were dying. She created plants that would last them her absence, things they could keep for months, and if no-one took too much and what she gave, there would always be enough for them. She would always fill their cups and they would always raise them up.

She loved the people, and she saw everything.

.  
.  
.

Her husband did not understand her fixation with the people. He knew she cared for them, loved them, and wanted them to be safe, and be loved her just the same, so he protected them for her. He kept them safe, just as she wished. He did not understand why she scorned him so, he had done this for her.

Of course, the people weren't happy, but they were content, and had food and so long as he cared for them, they wouldn't fade as they did in the world above. 

And yet, each time she returned from the world above, and fixed eyes upon those he had claimed as his own, a frown grew upon her lips and the light faded from her gaze.   
But the light was still there when she looked at him, so he was happy.

.  
.  
.

Each time she came home to him, what was once their cozy space had grown bigger. Over the years, a cavern had grown, through which clanging and echoes could be heard.

Advancements came and went and were exceeded and the hum of electricity filled their home, and it once again became small, not cozy as it once had been, but small in that she could not escape it. It trapped her and pinned her down, and she could no longer look any way without finding the people he shackled to his underworld. 

.  
.  
.

The light was gone from her eyes. The few times he caught her sight, there was nothing, and now she refused to meet his. He could no longer look into deep brown, with flecks of green and warm gold. All he could see was a discontented woman, who was no longer in love with him.

He was desperate. If she so loved the world above, he would-- would create a second one. Yes. His world would become an imitation of hers. He would light the dark corners-- better than even the sun, he would make rainbows in his home-- no need for Iris or Apollo or Artemis. He would create the light himself, he would please her, and that was his resolve.

.  
.  
.

The young on the surface were always the most interesting, dancing around each other, stepping on toes and on the hearts of each other as they went, ignorant for everything save the music around them. Well, mostly at least.

There were two, and they were interesting, if not anything else. They reminded her of herself and her once-boy, one optimistic, carefree, enraptured by the beauty of the things around them. Loud and intrusive and yet soft and meek all the same. And the other- the girl this time around, quiet, appreciative, loving and thoughtful, but worried- oh so worried. She could see it, the new girl had doubts, and she knew that the girl's carefree boy would never be able to take that from her, not with all of the music in the world, even if he was fully capable of giving it to her.

.  
.  
.

She returned home once again to a different world, it was lit up, and there was beauty. Oh yes, there was beauty in how the lights danced and flickered and the golden sparks flew through the air with each strike. But this beauty was-- it was forced and fake. Like the second sparrow, she couldn't bring herself to love it. And she grew ever more bitter and unhappy in the land she had willingly trapped herself in.

Her husband looked on and despaired at his wife, so unhappy. So trapped. So pained. And it wrenched his heart. He couldn't please her. He had tried and he had tried and she was never satisfied, grabbing for the things he couldn't give her and discarding what little he could. So he buried his pain, and his sorrow and hardened himself. She would grow happy, or she would forever remain sad. He had given her ample opportunity, and there was no more he could do, the consequences for their love be damned.

He went back to the surface, and he found more of the people for his world, and this time he brought one of her favourites.

.  
.  
.

Persephone had known the girl was doomed to come here eventually, but seeing her was still a surprise.

What was more of a shock however, was the whispers that had reached the underworld. A boy had slipped through after his lost love, directed by the whistle of a message brought by the changing winds-- Hermes. Ever a meddler-- and then the boy in question made his debut.

He had lurked among the people, upset the order that Hades had established and made them rise up. The ball was in her husband's court, and she couldn't wait to see how he reacted.

.  
.  
.

His anger at the boy's daring was hilarious, she thought. Almost as funny as he had been when they were young, tripping and ever-tangled in the roots and vines that seemed to follow her around. Now those same vines had seemed to crush his heart.

He was furious beyond doubt. Beyond all reason, and yet, without her intervention he gave the boy a chance. She entertained the idea that he might have seen the young couple as she had- themselves reversed. Perhaps he wished that they wouldn't be doomed to the hatred that had formed between himself and her over time.

.  
.  
.

Hades was knocked flat. Not literally, he couldn't show anything. But the boy had charmed him with a humble song, made him feel something he hadn't felt in years. And he looked to the couple and he saw himself and Persephone, long ago, before he had built the wall around his realm and between their hearts. Yes, this boy had played the God of Death, who could end him in an instant, like a simple tune on the guitar he carried.

But now came the ultimatum. This was hope and opportunity and everything his wife had waited for-- he could see it under the shallow amusement she held on the surface. She too saw themselves in the couple and was optimistic for their future. Alas, he couldn't simply abandon the world he had spent so long cultivating. As much as his wife hated it, he sustained the people. As much as they wished to rebel, they would doom themselves doing so. If he allowed the boy to go free with his lover, they would see him as weak, not the leader they had come to know. If he kept the boy, he was cruel, both in the eyes of the humans and the eyes of his wife. So he read the boy his terms and allowed him to determine his own fate. Walk with her to the world above and never turn to look or touch. Your success or failure is yours to make.

.  
.  
.

They spoke, heart to heart, for the first time in ages-- beyond the memory of the people. Her husband looked upon the two of them leaving, and gave a bittersweet smile. Neither of them knew how this would end for the young, but they could determine how it would end for themselves. And so they linked hands, a delicate touch neither of them had felt in an age, swallowed up by years of pain and bitterness. And for just a moment, it went back to when they were young, Hades and 'Sephy, against her mother, the surface and the underworld. The boisterous and the calm. The blinding ,loud light and the sweet, quiet dark.  
The beginning and the end of all things, back to where they had begun so long ago.

“Would you take pity on an old man, my love?” 

She smiled, something true and beautiful.

“Perhaps. You will have to find out.” 

It was as it had been in those days, ever a confirmation.


End file.
